Teardrops On My Guitar
by Nikaeleen
Summary: Songfiction based on the song with the same title by Taylor Swift. "The title reminds you of a song, doesn't it? Well, what Taylor Swift has sung is nothing but my reality, every word she pronounces is the truth I live. And it hurts." Hope you like it :)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : I don't own the song nor the lyrics I here use, they all belong to their worthy writers.

This is a five part songfiction I wrote a couple of years ago.

Enjoy!

* * *

You know that moment when you wake up, but you are still not awake?

That moment when you have no worries, when all you see is bright whiteness, the warming rays of it circling you comfortably?

And do you know what it feels like to regain consciousness, falling heavily from that blissful cloud?

I know it quite well...

Slowly opening one eye, I take in the sun's rays that have woken me up. A thin streak of light is cleverly blinding me.

Huffing, I shuffle under my sheets, rolling to the other side, wishing I could escape the day. However, common sense and duty overcome me, as I peek at my bedside clock and decide it's time to get up. I throw my sheets carelessly, leaving the safe place my bed provides.

I make it to my bathroom, my gaze scanning my face in the mirror that hangs over the sink to my left. What I see is what I expected; not that being waiting for it makes me feel better. My eyes are slightly puffy and still a bit red from the crying I did last night. My heart still aches, heavy.

I look around in my make-up box for something -anything- to make me seem at least presentable.

The morning routine done, I skip down the steps to the ground floor. The door to my right leads to the kitchen and there's where I am heading.

As per usual, my mum is humming 'No Woman No Cry', as she prepares a sandwich for my little sister.

"G' morning," I say, yawning.

"Good rising, sunshine," she grins, her green tunic flowing merrily as she turns to greet me. From the window behind her, the morning light is firing her auburn mane up, which complements her natural gleam.

I manage to stretch a small, but felt, smile.

Then, while cutting off the crust and wrapping up the food, she goes on about how I shouldn't forget to pick up my sister and how she, herself, is starting a new project today. It seems that the gallery requires 20 pieces minimum for her to exhibit. I smile to myself, typically mum.

As she continues on with her babble, I prepare myself some Cheerios. However, her last remark makes me grip on the spoon too hard, the cereal instantly falling into the bowl.

"I saw Drew the other day at the shopping avenue. He helped me out with loading the bricks onto my truck." She paused, probably thinking of how nice of a boy he is. That is, if I can interpret smiles correctly. "Such a shame he is now busy with practice, he was a nice boy to have around."

Mentally I feel like beating my mum, but she doesn't know, how could she?

That's why I decide to go for a "yes, it's a shame."

She must not have noticed my beat-up tone, because she exclaims that if I don't hurry up, I'll be late.

Already exhausted, I leave my cereal uneaten and head again for my bathroom to brush my teeth. Somehow I get toothpaste on my black rimmed spectacles. Just wonderful. How many times has it been this month?

Sighing, I hastily clean them up, leave the bathroom, pick up my schoolbag and get out of the house.

The front yard is my mother's biggest masterpiece, mainly because it took her years to master the art of being a gardener. The light-grey path serpents down the yard to the sidewalk, colourful blurs of countless flowers framing it.

Near the white-painted, wooden fence stands a small tree, my tree. Originally it was double-based, two main branches erupting from the ground. Mother had let one of the main branches be cut and then she had shaped it to a small incrusted bench, my bench. I was sitting there when I met him...

Reminding myself of Drew, I glance to my side, checking up if he is still there. As I don't spot his brown jeep, I let out a relieved breath.

However, my good mood is abruptly ruined. My hand is already on the knob, when I hear his voice.

"Mara!"

I turn to see him a few feet away from me, a sweet smile on his face.

Pushing my glasses up, I can't help but smile back with a hamper in my heart.

"Drew," I greet hopefully sounding nonchalant.

As he approaches, I can see an embarrassed sparkle in his beautiful eyes. In those hazel-tainted mirrors of his soul that carry this deepness and caring feelings that always evolve me in a pleasant bubble. I hold in the urge of sighing out of bliss.

"Hey," he breathes out when he is only a feet away. I hold a lungful of air. "I am sorry to ask you so short of notice... I tried to call you yesterday, but you didn't answer your cell... My car is by Old Joe's; that old thing is refusing to work... Can you, can you give me a ride?"

A hand grips my heart, squeezing it tightly, and guilt heaves it further down. His words not only pierce my conscience, but remind me of last night, of the reason I refused to answer his call.

To make up for my bad action, I hear myself voicing out, "Sure."

The embarrassed glint disappears and is replaced by a genuine beam that lights up my little world.

"Thanks," he grins.

With a smile still plastered on my lips, I hop in the driver's seat. While I fasten the seatbelt, Drew straightens himself.

Sensing my eyes on him, he turns around and smiles. "Thank you, again."

My mumbled "no problem" is not heard, for it is overpowered by the starting of the engine.

"Really, thank you," he begins. "You saved my life."

He pauses and inhales. I sense a little explanation rant coming up. "Mark said he had to drive his little sister to school, but it's obvious that he is picking up Hanna. To get some alone time..." A 'if you know what I mean' is dying to follow that sentence, but neither he nor I say anything, remaining silently grinning.

Never have I been so glad that we live an only ten-minute ride away from our school. Seriously, I am almost whooping, and I don't even do that on any basis.

Is it, though, understandable that I wish that we won't part? That my heart, even if broken, is filled only because of his presence? That I feel like the luckiest girl alive, only by sharing the same car with him?

However, this joy is toxically disturbed by my conscience, my thoughts and knowledge of his feelings. And what hurts the most is that he has yet spoken to me about it and it pains to know that I am not trusted like I used to be.

"Mara!" Emma's voice shrills, shaking me off my thoughts.

"What?" I retort languidly, still not really back on earth.

While I was doing the little thinking-about-my-feelings, I had somehow gotten out of my car, said goodbye to Drew, slalomed through the cheerful and energised crowd and made it to my locker on the first floor.

Funny how your body still works without you having to order it around. Makes me wonder if...

"Emma to Mara. CRRRR. Emma to Mara. CRRRR." She attempts to act out a walkie-talkie conversation. "CRRRR. Can you hear me? CRRRR. Roger."

A small giggle escapes my lips. This is one of the reasons I love my best friend; she is capable of doubling me in laughter, even if I am on the verge of crying the daylights out of myself. As I am now.

My lip quivers slightly at the reminder, but it's enough for Emma to notice.

"Oh, honey," she hugs me. "It's going to be alright. You know the saying..." she smiles at me, encouraging me to say it.

"I don't know, Emma." I confess. Not that I don't know the saying. I am just not sure, if it's really going to be fine.

She huffs. "Alright, if you don't say it, I will. 'Everything will be alright in the end. If it's not alright, it's not the end.'" She beams, her plucked eyebrows up as if she is waiting for me to merrily agree with her.

Which I don't. "Emma," I try to reason her. "It's not that easy."

The happy glint that is always present in her green orbs falters. "I know, sweetie. But you will make it, I know you will." Her words are spoken whole-heartedly, her eyes wide open, as if she has nothing to hide.

Suddenly her eyes grow bigger and her copper locks sway erratically, as Emma sees someone she recognizes, which makes her cover her face by applying a small scowl. "Speaking of the devil," she lets out, while she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

I don't need to turn around to know who she is referring to, but I eye him anyways.

Drew looks at me and I fake a smile, so he won't see what he does to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Before lunch, I have the only class I share with Drew: Chemistry.

Mrs Bradman is rambling about the next assignment we have to do and I absently-minded take a few notes.

I quickly squint to my side. Why is Drew looking at me?

I can feel his quick glances being aimed at me, uneasiness dripping from each inch of his gaze.

I peek back just to see his features morph from insecurity to decisiveness, as he stares at his notebook. He grips his ballpoint pen a little more tightly and, after ripping a piece of a paper, starts madly scribbling down. I notice a few strands of his chocolate-brown hair falling onto his eyes.

What is he doing? I feel my eyebrows knit themselves together.

I don't wind on about this thought longer; instead I try to concentrate on my teacher's words.

Before I can hear more than a 'be careful with…' someone pokes my arm. Drew reaches from the nearby stool the small piece of paper that he had ripped of his notebook, handing it to me.

Unfolding it, my stomach drops ever so slightly. I force myself to raise an eyebrow and to stretch a smile on my lips. With that little cover-up, I glance at Drew.

His eyebrows are held up, questioning. As an answer, I make my smile grow wider, signalling that I am up to it.

In return, he flashes one of his most flawless, hearted smiles.

Time seems to have stopped while we grin at each other, a bittersweet aura surrounding us, the affecting waves of it enveloping us, separating us from the outside.

Abruptly, the boisterous commotion pokes our little bubble and, as a balloon, its content blows out, rapidly.

Drew passes a tanned hand through his already too-long hair and averts his gaze, eyeing the worksheet finally conscious of his task.

I, on the other hand, eye the note again, my thoughts whirling on and on, uneasy and hurt...

«I need to talk to you. Today, after school. Give me a ride?»

Closing my locker, I sigh. I sincerely hoped that by renewing the air in me, my mood could be mended. But it takes more than a few breaths to even think of getting it up.

"You know, you can call it off," Emma voices out, concerned. "I mean, you do really have to pick your little sister up, so you wouldn't be lying, if you told him you had plans." She offers.

"I can't, Emma." I breathe out again. "I have already promised him."

Her eyebrows knit and her eyes worried, my best friend is refraining herself of bursting out. She knows I am too weak right now to handle with her truthfulness.

"Alright," she copes with it, although a bit resigned. "Be sure to call me afterwards. I wouldn't want you to-" suffer alone?

I can only think of what she wants to say, because she doesn't end the sentence, instead she softly decrees: "Just call me."

"Sure," I unfeelingly concede, while I rearrange the strap of my backpack, placing it nearer my neck, so that the chances of it falling lessen.

"See you tomorrow," I am about to turn away, when Emma hugs me tightly. I am too stunned to even move and before I can react, she has already let go of me.

"Don't forget to call or consider yourself dead-meat." She whispers, streaks of mock hiding behind her attempted seriousness.

I let out a small laugh. "Thank you." For everything.

She winks and mentions me to go.

Outside the double doors, the poignant breeze of a pleasing autumn afternoon is already a tad too cold for the season. I seize my light jacket closer, in an attempt of keeping myself warm.

Not many steps away of my parking place, I see him in his flawless glory:

Today, he is wearing light clothing, like me. His light-coloured jeans hang loosely around his waist, covering the top of the latter is his white t-shirt. Over the top, he put a blue madras-patterned blouse, which he left opened. I faintly snigger: we had bought it together, a few years ago.

He is leaning against the hood, his bare, slightly tanned arms crossed over his chest, probably in an attempt to keep himself warm.

My eyes travel further up. He isn't yet aware that I am observing him, for his head is turned to the side. Those caring eyes of his are concentrated on whatever is occurring on the parking lot. I smile. His capability of being solely focused on one person amazes me. No one had ever been so attentive towards myself, had ever held intensely their gazes on me. No one had ever the time to appreciate me.

And that's what I love about his eyes: they are a mirror of his soul, a reflection of what he truly is and he truthfully is caring and observant. What's more: he shows me those qualities and for that I am more than grateful.

A dim movement catches my attention, as my eyes fall onto his lips. I cannot tell how many times I have seen the corners of his mouth curled up. It is as if all the joy in the world is engrossed in him.

Ah, but it doesn't mean he hasn't cried! He has and I witnessed it, even aided him: whenever his tears caressed his cheeks, I would wipe them. Whenever his heart was broken, I would be there to help him mend it: together we would put the pieces together and soon happiness would come out of his every pore.

He trusted me to support him and I cannot tell how it pleases me that he is not afraid of me seeing him vulnerable.

His hand travels to his hair, attempting to get it off his eyes. My gaze lingers on his chocolate-brown strands, capturing its beauty. They reflect the warm, orange-coloured rays of the setting sun with a silky honey-shaded tonality resembling a sweet halo.

For a second, as Drew turn his head to me, I am blinded by its shine.

"Mara," he greets, liquid happiness dripping from his syllables, as he curls his lips into his dazing smile.

Grinning too, I take the remaining steps to my car, crossing the road, my gaze locked with his.

Suddenly a shrilling honk is heard. I look to my side, my eyes wide opened, to see a white car a few feet away from me. "Hey, airhead!" Some guy shouts from the window. "Watch your step!"

Nodding, but still in shock, I hurriedly reach my car. I am still fussed about what just happened. How could I not have seen it? I am normally very careful, since…

"Hey, are you alright?" Drew puts his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer. He lowers his head to my level, his orbs carefully observing my face, looking for any odd sign.

I hold my breath and mutter a distracted "yes". How can I concentrate, when he is so close?

He must have thought my reaction to be amusing, because he starts laughing.

As his melodious laugh is contagious, I can't help but to giggle, too.

My shock subsided, I think about why I didn't see the car coming. Eyeing at a chuckling Drew, it all makes sense. I laugh harder, because it's damn funny how I can't even see anyone when he's with me.

The sound dies down and we're left breathing in. I cock my head to the side, mentioning him to enter the car.

After I start the engine, I tell him, while I look to either side, checking up if I can move on: "We have to stop by Marie's school first. Mum told I have to pick her up, today."

"It's alright." He settles kindly. "It's been awhile since I saw her. How is she?"

I act out an affectionate snort. "A pest, but what can else you expect from an eight year-old?"

To my remark he chuckles. God, I love his laugh.

Not even five minutes later, I stop at the front of Saint Anne's Primary School for Girls. I spot my sister at the front door, her auburn locks tied in two ponytails. As I watch her mane fire up, much like mother's, I tug at my own black hair, pinning some strands behind my ear, careful not to mess up with my glasses.

While I am lost in thoughts, my sister skips the stone steps and makes hastily her way to the car.

With some effort, she manages to enter the vehicle. Drew had eyed me while she was struggling with the door, but I only shook my head. My sister was at the age where she wanted to do things by herself and helping her would only cause her to be angry. And mad eight years old girls are not that fun to be around, honestly.

After she fastens herself in, I glance at her through the rear-view mirror. "Hey, Marie. How was school?"

She crosses her arms annoyed. "Fine." I stifle a laugh. I know she is trying to act older, mimicking some star of a Disney show she loves to watch.

I notice Drew is too controlling himself, as I peek at either sides, before I join the traffic.

"Well, hello there, Marie." He smoothly greets her.

Astonishment breaks her façade and her eyes light up. "Drew?!" She half-sings.

"The one and only." He jokes.

Their conversation fades into background noise, as I fully concentrate on the driving. The small journey is only prolonged by 4 minutes, compared to the one of this morning. Only that now, I don't feel like whooping at the end of it. Seeing my sister and Drew having fun, I cannot be happier. Though, something does seem odd; there's something about him I knew that made my heart break. I dimly frown, fumbling through my memories.

Before I can put my finger on it, we arrive. I hardly am near of turning off the engine and Marie is already near the passenger door, waiting for Drew to come out. I roll my eyes, seriously, that girl…

Seeing as he is so calm about it, how he takes his time to listen to her ramblings, I fall into him a little deeper.

Getting my backpack from backseats, I look for the keys. Passing my hands on my jean's pockets, I notice a small bump. Too small for it to be the keys, I note. Nevertheless, curiosity makes me pull out a small piece of paper.

«I need to talk to you. Today, after school. Give me a ride?», it reads and I am suddenly reminded.

It dawns all on me, digging a hole in my shattered heart.

Pushing the realization away, I finally find the keys. "Come on, Marie." One can hear the tiredness in my voice. "You surely have some homework to do."

Her expression reads 'party-pooper' and she even offers a small pout.

"Don't worry, you can come to my house any time you want." Drew appeases her sweetly.

She grins broadly, showing off her missing tooth. "Thanks, big bro." She hugs him rapidly and then follows me to the house.

After I opened the door for her, I eye Drew, who is still standing beside my car. I show him my hand, my fingers held apart from each other. Five minutes, I mouth. He nods and I enter the house I call home.

"Mara!" That little pest doesn't rest, does she? "I'm hungry!" She is currently in the kitchen, her bag on the floor.

I pick it up and put it and my own bag on the small light-wooden table, where we normally have our meals.

"Alright, what do you want to eat?" I rummage through the cupboards.

From the corner of my eyes I see her hopping as she chirps: "Oreo's, Oreo's!"

Now where are those delicious cookies?

Aha, there they are! I take a small package of the box and lay it next to the bag.

I pull out a stool from under the table and Marie soon takes a seat.

From another cupboard, I get a cup, which I soon fill with milk.

"Here you go, kiddo." I hand it to her.

"I am not a kid." She huffs.

"Sure, Marie." I mess up with her hair and grab the keys I left near my backpack.

Isn't her pout adorable?

"Mum will be home in few," I tell her as I grab some skittles from the storeroom; they're Drew's favourite sweets. "See ya later, little pest." I playfully say.

As an answer, she sticks her little tongue out.

I laugh loudly as open the door and close it behind me.

If only I could see this every day, I dream wistfully to myself.

Right in front of me, under our tree, is Drew, his gleaming hazel eyes wide open, expectant, watching the door.

How pleasant it is to be waited for, especially if the person waiting is such a flawless guy.

Still dazed, I make my way to my mother's masterpiece and smile shyly up to him.

"Hey," I breathe out.

We both open our mouths to talk and close them simultaneously.

"You go..." We tell each other in unison.

Cocking my head to the side, I encourage him to go on.

For a second, he is motionless. Then, soundlessly points to the bench, mentioning us to sit down. So we do.

After we got accustomed to the now too small wooden seats, he speaks the words I always dreaded to hear: his confession of love for another person.

"I am in love," he bluntly states. "This time I got it right, I know it. I finally got it right..." As he keeps talking, a warm, cosy and adorable tone is more and more noticeable.

I wonder if that's how I sound like when I talk about him: so madly lost in my own world, a pleasant expression on my face with eyes that shine mysteriously like only I hold the secret to happiness and I won't share it.

Once he is done with his confession, he eyes me and I smile. I think I say something about being happy for him and how I bet he is right.

I cannot tell for sure what my mouth words out, I cannot tell for sure what I am doing. As he keeps talking about his love, I silently fall into myself. I can feel myself tumbling into the deepest part of my soul: a part I am not sure existed before, a part that freezes me, slices me, and rips me apart. Because, even though he obviously dated before, never had I seen his eyes so bright, his soul so gleaming, his aura so pure and full of joy, never had I seen him in love. And now I do, and it makes me both happy and sad. Happy, because he found her, he found someone worthwhile; sad, because that girl isn't me.

I try to shove the more predominant feelings of heartbreak away, try to show him how happy I am for him...


	3. Chapter 3

I had managed to keep a smile on my face throughout the whole conversation. It was only when I reached my room when the suppressed feelings broke the barriers I had built, tears falling uncontrollably down my face.

Here I am, about half an hour later, my guitar resting in my lap. I'm still not confident enough to play; instead I plug randomly at a string. My eyes are yet to dry, droplets making way down my cheeks into the wooden body of the instrument.

He is the reason for the teardrops on my guitar. He is the reason why I feel so miserable right now. And I hate it, hate it.

But I love him. A lot. And it hurts. It clenches my heart in a tight grip that results in a panicked state.

A tempest of feelings still running in my core, tumbling myself, I sit upright, placing the curve of the guitar on my tight, and start playing. My insight is just as blurred as my vision: I cannot tell what I am playing. I just know that it eases the uproar in my chest, appeasing the stormy emotions to a calm numbness.

After coming up with a few melodies, I am able to say that the storm is over. However, it'll be long before the streets are clean, before the walls are re-built, therefore I let my finger slowly trace the neck of the instrument.

Without meaning it, I start playing the song I composed when I met him. It was short, but sweet, just like our first encounter…

I was sitting under the tree, enjoying the shadow of it, with Twilight clutched in my hands. I have no idea why I loved the books so much, I guess I longed for someone like Edward. Now that I think about it, I was so foolish. Why would I want to be in a relationship with a character that had a personality as deep as a puddle?

Anyway, I was sitting under the tree, enjoying the shadow and reading the goddamn book – as I have mentioned –, when a heard a voice to my left.

"What are you reading?" The boy was leaning on the fence mom had put up a couple of days ago. It stilled missed the white painting, but mom had yet to come down to buying the paint.

I remember that I clutched the book tight, embarrassed for some reason. I think it might have to do that I thought of it to be too personal, like it was telling my life and I wanted to keep it secret. God, was I foolish.

"Nothing," I answered, carefully controlling every emotion. Before he could ask more, I questioned: "Who are you?"

He smiled and I guess it was then that I lost myself to him. "I'm Drew." He tilted his head to the right. "What about you? What's your name?"

Forgetting all about Edward and Twilight, I beamed at him. "I'm Mara."

I open my eyes and I am back to the present again. The small melody I have been playing as I replayed the memory in my mind comes to its end. However, it's not long before another one follows. I composed many songs about Drew.

Why can he not tell? I grasp my guitar tightly causing it to let out an atrocious sound. Soon, I come to the conclusion that even if he did, he now found another and could care less about how I feel. I know it's a lie, he'll care, if only he knows…

I shove the thought away, while I play another song. This one I composed the day we went to the fair. I had a blast on that day. Well, part of it anyway.

Anyway, I was fourteen back then and it was one of the hottest days of June ever. Mom had convinced me to wear a dress and I had let my hair get braided.

His parents joined my mother and Marie, while Drew and I were let alone to wander through the enormous extension.

I remember how he laughed at my obvious fear and discomfort as we were riding the roller coaster. Later, when we left the godforsaken ride and I could stand properly on my legs again, he told me how funny it was that I had been too terrified to even scream. I didn't think it to be even amusing and, if I wasn't so shaken up, I would've smacked him.

Drew then put an arm around my shoulders and took me to one of those booths where you have to pop ten balloons with the darts they give you. "Come on, I'll win you something to make up for it."

I smiled at him and watched as he skilfully popped the ten balloons. A smile of victory flashed in his face after he hit the last one and then he turned to me. "Pick one."

My eyes travelled through the whole stand, searching through the countless soft toys and trying to choose one. Then I spotted a small tiger hid between two enormous bunnies. I pointed at it.

The young man behind the stand must've misunderstood, because he went for one of the bunnies.

Shaking my head, I told him: "I want the tiger, please, not the bunny."

A hint of surprise flickered through his features, before a small smile played on his lips. "Alright."

With Rican, my soft toy tiger, in my hands, I looked at Drew, beaming. "Thank you."

He smiled caringly at me and then, taking my arm, nudged me in the direction of the Ferris wheel.

Once inside of a cart, we talked and laughed, joking about our classmates, about random situations and about ourselves. As we fell silent for a while, I noticed that we had reached the top. Then, I spotted a star crossing the sky and I closed my eyes, making a wish. I smiled to myself and I thought my wish had been granted, when he spoke.

"Look," he started unsure of himself. I was taken slight aback, insecurity wasn't part of Drew's character. "I have something to tell you."

Butterflies flew in my stomach and, as I was fool, I was head over heels, imagining what he was about to say and enjoying every bit of my fantasies. Which were shattered almost the next instant.

"You know Rita?" He asked.

I sensed something was off, he wasn't supposed to be talking about another girl. How foolish I was. "The transfer student?" I supplied.

He nodded, then proceeded. "I asked her out today," he smiled shyly looking everywhere but at me.

My heart clenched and I was darn glad he wasn't eyeing my way, because I was almost sure one could see the hurt in my features. Since when did he have an interest in her? I hadn't known anything about it until that moment. I tried to make my voice sound as friendly as possible, "What did she say?"

Still staring at the grey floor, he told me. "She said yes."

"Really?" I forced some more enthusiasm into my voice. "That's great!"

And that's how Drew's love-life and my friend-zone began, I think sourly as I look at the starry sky.

Eyeing now my guitar, I think of how this is one of the first songs about Drew that I never finished, because, as younger me, I didn't have the strength to bear the pain of heartache and to weave that feeling into a song was beyond my power back then. I could've finished the song later, I can finish it now, but I have learnt that what happens in the past cannot be undone, so I won't finish the song.

My eyes are once again glued to the white-specked firmament and, as I spot a wishing star, I find myself wording mentally that same prayer I did all those years ago. He was and is the only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star.


	4. Chapter 4

I can't seem to stop thinking about him, no matter how hard I try and that is really despicable. I mean, he is just a boy, why does he have to be the centre of my life?

Because I am insanely in love with him and he doesn't even have a clue.

Idiot, I scold at myself, stop being such a whiny little self-pithier.

Then stop being in love with him! I retort, angered at myself.

We both know that isn't easy, my conscience replies.

Sighing, I shake my head.

Am I that desperate that even I feel the need to scold at myself, the need to talk myself out of this one-sided love?

"Mara Greenwood," Mrs. Bradman raises her voice, authority leaking out of every word, calling me out of my internal battle, "can you please repeat what Drew just said?"

That he loves another? That he thinks this time it is for real? That in no way may I be more than just a friend? He never said that, but I think it's a bit obvious…

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I apologise, embarrassed to have been caught distracted. As I feel the eyes of my classmates on me, I sense their surprise. Mara, the top-student, was distracted? What's coming next? Aliens?

I sincerely don't know what they're thinking, but that must be it. I mean, the brown hair dude's eyes – I think his name is Cameron – are almost falling off his face. What is so shocking about me not knowing what he said?

Yes, I am not really in a good mood.

"Drew, if you would be so kind to repeat it," Mrs. Bradman's voice is smooth as she addresses the boy, however her eyes were fixed pointedly on me, a hint of disappointment hidden behind the hardness.

"Yes, ma'am." He nods and proceeds to repeat whatever he has said before. His efforts are useless; I am not able to hear a thing, because my thoughts are again whirling around the problem that my shattered heart is.

Frustrated that I have not come up with a solution, I leave the room, right after the bell has rung.

"Mara!" Drew calls me from behind me and I turn around to see him rushing my way.

Please, go away, don't do this to me, I beg mentally.

His hazel eyes catch mine and I see worry in them. Please, stop. "Are you okay?"

No, I'm not okay. My heart is broken and you're the one to blame. I can't make you love me like I love you. I can't make you see the tears I shed for you, because even if you hurt me, I can't see myself doing the same, I can't make you cry. I don't want to. I never will. But I am hurt, ripped apart because you can't even tell, whirls around in my mind.

However, I settle for an 'I'm fine' and an attempted smile.

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

Please, stop being kind. Stop being yourself. I don't want to love you. Please.

I force my grin to stretch wider. "Yeah."

Satisfied with my answer, Drew rests his arm around my shoulder. "Let's go eat something."

On our way to the infamous school canteen, he goes on and on about his practices and, of course, about her. I try to sound as friendly and comfortable with the situation as possible, as I ask a few questions here and there.

I am too caught up in our conversation that I'm unaware of my movements. It's only when I land on the seat next to a teammate of his that I sober up. I am sitting on the football team's table, crosses my mind in a shocked, slow pace. Never before have I even thought of sharing lunch time with his friends. Even if we are sort of best friends, he has his group and I have Emma. It's always like that.

I push my glasses up and my hand passes through my hair, while I bite my lip; I feel so out of place. Just keep your eyes on the food, Mara, I command myself.

"So, Drew," the boy next to me speaks up, "is this the gorgeous one you keep talking about?"

Through my lashes, I peek at Drew; he's seated across me. I see his cheeks flush up, his gaze suddenly finding the trail in front of him very interesting, and decide to answer for him.

My eyes land, unsharpened, on his teammate and I straighten up in my seat, feigning confidence I obviously don't possess. Attempting a laugh, I tell him. "No, I'm only his friend." I sense a bit of hurt in my response.

Oblivious to it, the blonde next to me curls his lips into a cocky grin. I recognize him as the quarterback of our school's team, Jack Lenning. He's the school's precious star and a ladies' man left and right. Who wouldn't be with those looks? His shaggy dirty blond hair is kept in an attractive mess, his dark green eyes peeking from under his bangs. Beneath his strong nose, lie voluptuous lips, which he is very known for. Add it to a remarkably well worked-out body and you have Jack Lenning.

Leaning towards me, he whispers quite loudly. "He won't mind then, if I take you to a secluded corner?"

"Jack," Drew scolds, obvious anger present in his tone, "get a grip. She's not a game for you to play."

Jack doesn't even spare a glance at his teammate. "She can answer for herself," he replies, self-assured. Then, with a smoother tone, he asks me. "What's your name, beautiful?"

I stifle a shocked and sceptical snort, but reply anyway. "Mara."

I reckon that if I say no more, he will leave me alone. I don't need another boy bothering me, especially as I am still trying to puzzle my heart into a whole.

Jack doesn't seem to get the hint, as he leans even closer. "So, what do you say, Mar? Do you want to fool around?"

Heaving a sigh, I am getting annoyed. How dare he tease me, when I am broken to pieces? "The name's Mara and the answer's no," I don't even try to keep my bad mood from leaking out.

Resting his arm on the back of my chair, his mouth halts less than an inch away from my ear. His hot breath graces my skin, as he seductively whispers. "You don't know what you're missing on."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I decide that I had enough of the males' BS. Why can't he get the hint? Why can't Drew see that I am head over heels for him? Why are they all blind and incomprehensive and why do we, the girls, have to go through heartbreaks, when it's not even our fault that they can't see what they do to us?

Lashing it out on him, I retort. "I guess I have a clue what I am missing on. I mean, whenever I go to the bathroom, there's always some sharing how 'wonderful' and 'sinful' your lips taste. But you know what? I am not impressed." Getting up, I pick up my trail and before I turn on my heels, I tell both him and Drew. "I've had enough!"

I let my eyes furiously take in the whole room, ignoring my schoolmate's pointed stares. I am looking for someone and when I spot her copper locks, I free a sigh, walking towards her lone form.

Emma looks up from her phone, as she hears me lay my trail on the table and sit down.

Her green eyes show me her hurt. "Now you decide to join me," she quibbles.

"I am sorry, Ems. I was dragged into it," I tell her, defeated. I am not looking for discussions, I don't know if I will be able to control myself.

Huffing, she puts her Samsung Galaxy in the pocket of her jeans. After a tense moment, she quires. "Drew?"

Sighing once more, I assent. "Yeah."

Mimicking my motion, she wants to know. "What happened yesterday? I told you to call me." Again, hurt is present in her voice.

Keeping my eyes on the uneaten pasta, I murmur. "I'm sorry, Ems."

She lets out a tired chuckle. "That's what you keep saying. Now tell me, what happened yesterday?"

Relieved that she isn't angry at me anymore, I look up to those worried green irises and tell her about his new-found love. How says he is so in love. That he's finally got it right.

In the meantime, I try not to cry, pressing my emotions down.

Sensing my efforts, Emma grabs my hand and proposes. "Let's get out of here."

Nodding, I let go of her and dispose my trail on the respective wagon. What a waste of money and food, I think as I eye the full plate.

Sighing, I join Emma, who has been waiting for me, and we exit the infamous school canteen. With our arms enlaced, we climb onto the last floor, heading to a hidden corridor we found years ago, as freshmen. We are lucky no couple has ventured this far, but who in their sane minds would to make out on the same floor where the headmistress' office is?

No one. That's why this room-less, inconspicuous and sunlit corridor is only visited by us two. It's our secret spot. Not even Drew knows about this.

I am so close to shed my tears, as I sit down against the wall, right beneath the sole window of this hall. I wish for Emma to distract me from my pains and so she does.

Talking about rumours, celeb gossip and whatnot, Emma is able to drift my attention from my broken heart and bad mood to whatever silliness someone did.

We are making our way to class, when she mentions prom. I cringe automatically at that word. It's not like I have bad memories of a school event. It's just that every time there was a dance, Drew would take his current girlfriend and I couldn't go, because I was not able to take in the sight of him with another.

Emma notices my apprehension, but she too isn't in a smooth mood. "C'mon, Mara. It's the last chance you'll have! Who cares about him?! Don't let him rule over your life!"

I am shocked, overwhelmingly and angrily countering. "But he already has! And the worst of all, he doesn't even have a clue!"

The whole Art Class stood freezing and silenced. I have said it too loudly as I entered the room and now I regret it. Glaring at the ground, I slalom towards my seat. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I scold at myself.

Just my luck, the teacher isn't there. Even if Mr. Chen is cool, he is goddamn curious and I am not inclined to explain the whole thing to him, especially not in front of the class.

My head still hanging low, I take my seat and pull the material from my bag onto my table. As little by little my classmates resume to their murmuring and joking, I think of how this day cannot get any worse.

Of course, alike everyone that ever thought that, my day worsens. Normally, to my right side sits no-one – Emma sits to my left –, but today someone decides to offer me some company.

"What did you mean with 'I'm not impressed'?" A low-pitched voice sounds too close for comfort, at least in my opinion.

I glance at him through the corner of my eyes and he is closer than I have suspected. His nose little inches away from my cheekbone.

I move away from him, too drained to play games. "Not now, Jack." Seeing as he makes no move, I quickly add a 'please'.

"Fine," he scoffs. "This time you get away. But don't think you got rid of me, beautiful."

I am unsure whether to throw in a bitter remark, hinting again at leave-me-alone deal, or simply exasperate. I end up doing neither, since Mr. Chen decides to finally walk in and the class starts.

After having said good-bye to Emma, I feel more than ready to get home and play my guitar. I need to bring out all the bottled emotions in me, and music's my way to do it.

Today I am eager to make my fingers blaze through the neck of my instrument; Art class was pure torture and I have been strung up since then.

Jack is purely irritating. I don't even know why he's doing Art, because obviously his mind is until set on football… and girls. I will myself not to think about all the remarks he did about the female anatomy. I shiver. That was a hell of a class and I had to bite back the urge to hit him, because I am pro non-violence.

However, he deserves a big smack in that infatuated head of his.

"Mara!" I recognize instantly Drew's voice. "Wait up!"

I come to a halt right in front of my car, careful not to be in the way of anyone; I don't want to be run over.

For the second time in this day, I see him rush his way towards myself, mixed emotions erupting in my chest.

"Drew," I acknowledge him, when he is close enough.

"I'm sorry about lunch, I—" He starts, regretful.

I cut him in, not wanting to discuss the matter further. "It's alright," I soothe him and prepare to leave.

He frowns ever so faintly. "Wait! There was a reason why I wanted to eat with you," he confesses.

I oblige myself to listen and I mention him to go on.

"I wanted to…," he starts, but then thinks about it and drops the sentence. "Well, forget it."

I am starting to feel more and more tired of it all. I just want to be home and rest, play and rest.

"Drew, if that's all you wanted…," I turn away towards the driver's door.

"Mara," he calls again. "Are you going to prom?"

My world freezes and for a moment no thoughts cross my mind. Then all my emotions and thoughts, including suspicions, tumble into me, leaving confused and overwhelmed for a while.

Drew is asking you out for prom! The hopeful part of me exclaims.

Are you stupid? He loves another. This smells fishy, Mara. My suspicious self is sceptic.

Why does he want to know? The unsure side of me demands.

Pulling a leash over all the other possibilities and emotions, I decide to go for the truth. "I am not planning on."

I look at Drew through my lashes, over my specs. He seems a bit disappointed and in a way angry at himself.

"That's too bad," he tells me. "I wanted you to meet Jess."

"Oh," I let out, my shattered heart being almost slammed into dust. "That's too bad," I hear myself say.

"Yeah," he affirms uncomfortable with the situation before him. "See ya, Mara."

"Bye," I reply automatically.

I told you so, my suspicious self states harshly.

Shut up, I retort, as I buckle in and start the engine.

I cannot wait to get my guitar, so I start singing. The effect is the same, probably the singing is more effective, because it's my own chords that are working, not ones of some instrument. The act of chanting is most certainly more personal than the one of playing guitar; if I fail a note I cannot blame my fingers, nor the instrument, it's my fault, because I am the instrument.

That's why it's more effective, because all my emotions don't have to be canalized into the wood of the guitar, my voice comes out already drenched in them.

I start off humming all the melodies I have composed for him, savouring each note and simultaneously letting go of my unwanted emotions.

Suddenly I begin adding words and I only remember one stanza completely, because it somehow imprinted in my mind.

"I'll bet she's beautiful

That girl he talks about

And she's got everything

That I have to live without"

I keep repeating those words for a while, hating how true they are. However, they do help me cleanse my soul, so I continue chanting them.

At one point, right before turning to my street, I am too run over emotions that I have to pull up to the side and then I shed my tears like an agonising waterfall.

Before, I am in control of myself again, a conclusion crosses my mind. He's the song in the car I keep singing all the time. He's the only thing I am ever able to put into music; I love him to that extent.

I have to stop. Please, let me stop, I beg my heart. Please.

Please…


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you for real?!" My best friend squeaks a pitch too high in my ear. "You're really going?"

Oh, I am so going to regret this… Resigned, I nod, not having enough confidence to answer out loud.

Emma shrieks once more, before doing what she likes to call a happy dance. She's not a bad dancer, but as soon as she uses her arms she looks more like a hen than anything else.

I stay very still and wait for her to stop the whole act. Works all the time.

Suddenly, she dropped dead in her tracks. See, I told you remaining frozen works.

"Oh my chubby buns!" She squeals as her attention drifts once more towards me. My eyebrow drops at her cry, what the hell are chubby buns? Before I can question her about it, she tells me sternly: "We have to go shopping!"

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no. Nope. No.

I refuse. I will not.

Not even in a million years.

"Mara, this is important! You cannot just dive into your mother's wardrobe and rescue some vintage dress," Emma is mortified by the whole idea of it.

Damn! Just when I had a solution that didn't involve malls and little stores… Why does my friend have to know me so well?

However, I will not cave in this time. I can still recall the last time I went shopping with her and the whole experience has let some deep marks within me… I will spare you the details.

"What is so wrong with doing that?" I counter.

Emma sighs, raising a hand to her hair. She's telling me through motions that she feels sorry for my ignorance, that's if I can understand gestures right.

With a sweet voice, as if she is talking to a child, Emma explains to me. "Honey," she puts dramatically on my shoulder, inching towards me and looking me straight in the eyes. "You cannot simply go to prom with a dress ripped out of the eighties. Even if vintage is in, it's the new vintage, not the from-the-wardrobe-gotten one, you see?" Her green eyes have rounded up, as she glances me questioningly.

Weighting up the pros and cons in my head, I decide to comply with her capriccio. It's either that or a whole week of arguing that will leave us both bitter and I really hate to be sour, it's even worse than shopping.

"Fine," I retort.

Emma is beyond happy and I find myself once again eye her as she does her dance.

"Who let the chicken out?" Someone calls out loudly from the other side of the full corridor. On rainy days it is impossible to walk through the halls, because it is so packed inside. The full corridors also mean that one has to scream if one wants to be heard, hence some bystanders shifting their attentions to the boy, but they quickly resume their conversations.

"Simon," Emma's voice darkens as she recognizes her nemesis, or so she calls him. Here between us, she likes his teasing as much as he likes her, which is a lot.

He is surrounded by his friends, leaning on a locker on the other side of the corridor. His black hair falls to barely above his equally dark eyes. Even though his outfit is anything but black and spiky, he has one sweet smile reserved for my best friend.

"You," he gestures towards her, "me" his fingers are now pointing to himself, "prom?" He winks.

For a split second Emma is more than thrilled, she is probably thanking God for such a good day. Then, she raises an eyebrow mockingly. "Why would you want to take a chicken to prom?"

Uh, that's a good one. Mental note: don't mess with Emma lightly.

"If the chicken's you, I will take it everywhere," he admits flirtingly.

My best friend blushes and now's my turn to feel all giddy, what's best than see a friend in love, especially if said love is reciprocated?

Pretending to huff, she tells him, "Pick me up at five."

I hide my giggle; she's too adorable.

I obviously didn't do a good job at hiding my amusement, because Emma's now shooting daggers at me. "I still hate him," she feels the need to tell me, which of course makes me laugh harder.

My best friend slowly begins to stretch a whole-hearted smile, but something makes her freeze it. Before I can look over my shoulder, where her gaze is set, she grabs my arm and drags me through the mob.

I am kicked, elbowed, stepped on and for a second crushed between bodies, before we enter the safe heaven called bathroom.

"Emma…" I try to control my breathing, my body bending over. "What… the hell… was that?"

I look up to see a very controlled Emma checking herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair and whatnot.

Batting her lashes, feigning innocence as she shifts her attention to me, she claims. "I just wanted to check if I am still human… With Simon, you will never know."

What? I blink, look around and blink again, setting my gaze on her. I know something's up, but for now I will let it slide. That's why I settle for a "You're weird".

"Sure I am, why else would I be your friend?" Emma's in her joking mode again, I sigh.

"Funny," I comment dryly and turn around to leave the bathroom.

Emma soon joins me and keeps babbling about prom and dresses. I am not really listening to her, because my head is occupied with the prospect of going shopping. I shudder.

Suddenly I bump against someone.

"… perfect prom dress for you, don't you think?" Emma questions me, but all I can see are dark green eyes.

"Hello, beautiful."

Jack Lenning.

Blinking a couple of times, I try to figure a way out of this conversation I am so sure I don't want to have. Whatever makes them girls fall for them most only be his looks, because he's a pain in the ass. Two weeks of having him bothering me in Art class prove it.

"Jack," I do a small reverence and prepare myself to leave; it's the best way to escape.

Further steps ahead, Emma stops to look for me and as her eyes land on me, she calls me. "Mara?"

I intend to join her, but a hand keeps me in place. Jack.

"Wait." He begs.

I pointedly look at him; I don't want anything to do with the opposite gender before my heart is fully mended. I'm still not sure I am over Drew…

Taking his hand off me, he eyes me sheepishly, seeming somewhat uncomfortable. Jack Lenning lacking of confidence? Well, that's new.

Finally, he talks. "So you're going to prom?"

Why does he want to know? I think as I answer matter-of-factly. "Yes."

Seeing as he says no more, I attempt to leave again, but his question stops me from taking more than a step.

"Wanna go with me?"

Like echo, those four words played with my mind. Is he being truthful? There's only a way to know…

I rise up my eyes to his and I don't find anything that could lead me to a negative answer.

Do I even want to tell him no? Do I want to go with him? Do I believe him? Can I?

All the while my gaze keeps looking through his, trying to come to a conclusion about all this.

A shadow passes behind Jack and my attention shifts fully to the form. As always.

It's Drew. He is there, a few steps away. I hold my breath.

No Mara, don't. You promised. You said you would try! You can do it, you can stop. You are almost there!

I force my eyes to fall back to the jock. Yes, I breathe out, confidence present now in me. I will do it. Maybe Jack may help me.

"Yes," my voice comes out shaky. Clearing my throat, I say more firmly. "Yes. Pick me up at five. I live next to Drew."

The blonde is, at first, flabbergasted, but quickly recovers from the surprise and tries to answer clearheaded. "I know that."

What? He knows? Is there something I am missing on?

Unintentionally, my eyes are back on Drew and he has a small grin in his lips. Catching my gaze, his smile widens.

With little truthfulness, I curl the corners of my mouth, faking a smile, so he won't see.


End file.
